Kings of Chaos (Dirty Broken Savages #1)(102)
“Dragging is a strong word,” I tell her with a grin, letting my gaze roam up and down her body shamelessly.
“Who asked you?” she shoots back, and it probably shouldn’t be this easy to fall back into our old banter, but again, who’s complaining?
She looks the three of us over, and I can see the heat in her eyes as she takes us all in. We’re all dressed our best, even Priest, and I can tell she likes what she sees.
That just makes me grin wider at her.
Knox is also grinning like a madman, and he eyes her with a hot gaze. “Good choice,” he says about her dress. “Black’s a good color on you.”
“I figured the red might be too much of a statement,” she says.
He shrugs. “You could’ve pulled it off.”
Priest doesn’t say anything, but a look passes between him and River that happens so fast I almost miss it. Well, at least he’s not completely dead inside, I guess. He can still take notice of how fucking hot she looks.
Gage blows the horn again, and River lifts an eyebrow.
“Don’t ask,” I tell her. I sweep down into a goofy, over-the-top bow and open the car door. “Your chariot, ma’am.”
She rolls her eyes at me and lifts her dress enough that she can get into the back seat without wrinkling it. She slides into the middle, and Knox and I get in on either side of her.
“Okay,” I say. “Now we’re ready to go.”
Gage doesn’t say anything, just starts the car and peels out.
It’s another one of those funny juxtapositions when we leave River’s little neighborhood and start heading for the part of town where the gala is being held. It’s all mansions and fancy hotels and shit, places that make sense for the kind of people who’ll be at this thing.
It’s being held in one of the big hotels, in the “Grand Ballroom,” which is just so fucking pretentious it makes me want to puke all over myself.
We park the car and walk inside. There’s already a line of similarly dressed people to follow, and a man who looks like an honest to god butler is standing outside the ballroom, checking invitations.
“Keeping out the riffraff,” I mutter under my breath to River, who snorts.
“And yet somehow they’re letting you guys in. They need to do a better job with this shit.”
I stifle my laugh in time to nod to the butler dude, who takes the tickets from Gage and waves us through.
The lobby of the hotel was fancy enough. Everything was all gilded and marble in light colors. But the ballroom is a whole other story. There’s more than one delicately carved ice sculpture, big glittering swans on either side of the room. Waitstaff circle the area with trays balanced on their hands, offering glasses of champagne and little canapés that probably cost more than a week’s worth of food. There’s an orchestra in one corner, playing light music, and the rich and corrupt of Detroit all mingle amongst themselves.
The invite said it was “masquerade optional,” which apparently means some people are wearing gold masks and some have decided to say fuck that and want to show off their faces. Judging by how much work a lot of them have had done, it makes sense to want to display that investment, I guess.
Everything looks fake and overly primped, and it’s just a good reminder how much I hate shit like this. It’s why the other Kings and I opened a nightclub with the money we got from our first few big deals, instead of doing something fancy and shitty. Loud music, flashing lights, and hot dancers in cages are much more my scene than this stuffy display of assholes all trying their hardest to one-up each other and come out on top of a pile of fancy garbage.
We all walk in together, checking everything out. I can tell River’s never really been to something like this before, and she scopes it all out, making an amused face at the ice swans and the people who are half in masks and half not. None of it makes a lot of sense, which is what makes it so ridiculous that they’re all so proud of it.
As we stand near the entryway, a tall guy carrying a tray comes over. He bows at the waist, managing not to spill any of the champagne on his tray, which is actually pretty impressive. River just arches an eyebrow at him.
“Welcome,” he says, in a voice that makes it clear he’s given this speech or some version of it about a hundred times already tonight. “The hosts of tonight’s extravaganza do hope you enjoy your time. Please know that there is fine quality champagne that we hope will be to your satisfaction, as well as an open bar and a selection of fine canapés on offer. If you need anything, please find me or one of my fellow servers, and we’ll be happy to assist you.”
“At ease,” I say, giving the dude a look. “I’m sure we can manage.”
He just nods, acting like he didn’t hear the first part. “Please also know that there is a silent auction happening later in the evening. The prominent artist David Gleason has a new piece, and it will be unveiled before the bidding begins.”
“Thank you,” Gage says.
The waiter nods again and whisks himself away to go give the spiel to someone else.
“What do you even do at things like this?” River asks. She eyes the bar in the corner, where there’s already a group of people gathered, sipping scotch and whatever the fuck else.
“Mingle,” Priest says, speaking for the first time since we picked River up. He says it like it’s a dirty word, and I can’t imagine something more anti-Priest than mingling with a bunch of rich strangers. Except maybe an orgy or something, but if we were at an orgy, at least I’d be having a good time.